Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 118136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
I wanted to throw up into my port. Not because I didn’t like them—I did, I loved them, they were a part of my family—but because I knew what, and who, was coming through that door.
“It’s Knight! I’ve been dying to catch up with him.” Daria clapped excitedly, leaving Penn and me in the kitchen together without even sparing me a hello.
We nodded at each other. He leaned against the kitchen counter, jerking his chin my way.
“How’s college?”
I smiled, pointing at him.
He shrugged. “I’m happy wherever she is.” His eyes drifted to the space Daria had occupied a second ago.
That sounded like something Josh would say. Suddenly, I missed Josh. Josh, whose only sin was to be the cause of my rift with Knight.
I unlocked my phone and sent him a quick message, in answer to the ones he’d been bombarding me with.
Luna: Everything is great. Sorry I’ve been silent—a lot has been going on, but it’s okay now. We’re just starting dinner. I miss you, too, and I really can’t wait to get back to Boon. x
When I looked up, the kitchen was suddenly full of people, including Knight, his mother (Rosie), his dad (Dean), and his little brother (Lev). Lev and Racer sneaked together to the great room with Bailey on their heels.
Rosie squeezed me into her wheezing chest and kissed the crown of my head. Dean narrowed his eyes at me playfully, ruffling the hair I’d tried to straighten for the past couple hours.
“Having fun at Boon, Lu?”
I circled my index and thumb in an OK.
“Good, good.”
When it was Knight’s turn to acknowledge me, and all eyes were on us, he tilted his chin up in hello. He didn’t take a second look at my dress, or my made-up face, or my dolled-up hair. Just gave me a nonchalant wink and moved to the port, helping himself to a generous glass. The blush on his cheeks indicated he’d already slipped a shot or four before they’d arrived. He wore a white V-neck shirt, a navy blue blazer, and camel-hued skinny jeans, his hair a delicious, unkempt mess. He was thumbing his phone, not really paying attention to anyone, uncharacteristically distant.
Vaughn, who now stood next to me, looked between us and cleared his throat, silently asking what the hell was going on. Knight scratched his eyebrow, tossing his phone in the air and catching it with precise speed and accuracy.
“Anything to share?” Vaughn grumbled.
Knight threw his entire drink down his throat when our parents weren’t looking, clucking his tongue with a devilish smirk. “Sorry, not into sharing. You never know where shit’s been, you know?”
Vaughn whistled low, looking between us. “And so, the little innocent creature has fangs. The plot thickens.”
I swallowed.
Knight grinned. “Someone’s thick here, all right, but it’s got nothing to do with the plot.”
“You’re butthurt,” Vaughn mused.
“Nah. The only butts in danger of hurting are the ones I’ll be plowing into when we go to Arabella’s party after this boring dinner.” Knight spat out the word boring like I was the one who made it so.
I could feel my anger climbing up my toes, making every cell in my body burn. Arabella? What about Poppy? I wanted to yell my lungs out, but settled for flashing the boys a dazzling, I-don’t-give-a-damn smile, not wanting to cause a scene.
My fury reached another peak when we’d sat at the long dinner table, with brown, hand-decorated china, personal pumpkins painted by Lev and Bailey, yellow candles and handmade napkins sewn with real threads of gold. Everybody was chatting, laughing, and drinking warm cider and wine, enjoying their butter-roasted turkey. Knight sat next to me, probably because he knew he’d be bombarded with concerned questions if he didn’t, and continued texting under the table, taking no part in the conversation.
“Put the phone down, son,” Dean said at one point, and Knight didn’t even look up from the screen.
Dean put his glass of water on the table—he never drank alcohol—and looked directly at Knight with the familiar intensity of a man who could set the sky ablaze.
“Honey,” Rosie tried, dabbing a napkin at the sides of her mouth.
This time, Knight did look up, tucking his phone in his front pocket. It was one of the things I loved about Knight the most. He was respectful and loving to his mother.
“Sorry, Ma.”
“Sorry sounds right,” Dean muttered into his forkful of white asparagus.
“I agree. Sounds are awesome. I love sounds.” Knight threw his arms in the air, digging into his food all of a sudden like he’d been starving for days. I shrank into my seat next to him, staring at my meal like it was going to help me if I begged it hard enough with my eyes. I had a lot to say to Knight, but I couldn’t do it at the table.